Military Supply Corruption, Explosive Terrorism (4)

To call the office luxurious would have been an understatement. Adrian, head of the Rothman Marquisate, held a single sheet of paper in his hand — a ledger of the quarter's sales figures, nothing more and nothing less. Having all but seized complete control of the magic tool market, House Rothman was enjoying a boom of unprecedented scale.

"Still, it's a shame..."

The Marquis muttered the words to himself and set the document down on the desk. Then he tapped the wood lightly with one finger, sinking into thought.

The family was accumulating wealth on a scale without precedent. And yet the hunger would not be appeased. He wanted still more money — enough gold coins to drown in. And so what rose to mind was slaves.

Were slaves not unpaid labor? If he replaced every craftsman in the workshops with a slave, the money flowing out would shrink by that much. He had already cut the craftsmen's wages several times over, and even that felt wasteful to Adrian.

Wait. There's a way to turn the craftsmen themselves into slaves, isn't there...?

Use some incident as a pretext and saddle them with enormous debt. In the end they would work without wages until every last coin was repaid. A far better method than bringing in slaves and training them from scratch.

It was while the Marquis was laying out this preposterous ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠scheme that someone knocked on the door.

"Come in."

The door opened, and the steward entered the office. He bowed his head and approached the Marquis.

"Your Lordship, a letter has arrived."

"A letter...?"

The Marquis took the letter from the steward's hand. The sealing wax bore the stamp of the Imperial Inspectorate.

So that's who. My son must have sent it.

Gasfield de Rothman. The Marquis's son was an inspector serving in the 3rd Division, and he often forwarded important information that no outsider could have known. The Marquis assumed this would be more of the same. He opened the envelope with a light heart — however.

What lay inside was not a letter from his son, but a summons demanding his appearance.

He had already heard that the second son of Lichtenhaus had become an inspector. But to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠think the boy would not hesitate to go this far. He must have been quite hungry for results.

"Prepare a carriage. We go to the capital."

A sardonic smile hung on the Marquis's lips. He had already been displeased with the Lichtenhaus family, who treated the Empire as if it were their own home. Landing a blow on them this time would not be half bad.

I arrived in the capital and immediately dispatched a summons to Marquis Rothman. It would take him at least three days to get here. In the meantime, I could organize the evidence to be used at trial.

Time passed from that point, and before I knew it the next day had come. I left the mansion to go to work at the Inspectorate as usual — and immediately ran into someone.

"Inspector Gasfield. What brings you here so early in the morning?"

"Playing dumb, are you? You know perfectly well what you've done."

"If you have something to say, then say it. Leading questions are a coward's trick, are they not?"

Gasfield's face crumpled. I had said it precisely to provoke that reaction, so I was rather satisfied.

"Why did you go after our family? Is there no courtesy even among fellow inspectors?"

"Courtesy..."

I drew the word out, stroking the hilt of my sword with one hand. I wanted to draw it. I could not. That would have been like scattering ash over a finished meal.

"Does this courtesy of yours apply in only one direction?"

"What do you mean..."

"I am asking how a man who values courtesy so highly can put out a contract on a fellow inspector's life."

"I-I..."

"Of course you'll deny it. After all, it was a servant who went back and forth to the mercenary company in your place. If you have even a shred of guilt, you'd do well to apologize to him. Tell him you're sorry you got him killed."

Now that Dwinsen had chosen to stand with me, either the servant or Gasfield had to die. The price for attempting to assassinate a noble was that ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠heavy.

"And you seem to be under a rather serious misconception. I don't have the leisure to waste time on something as pointless as revenge. I am simply doing my job as an inspector. Had you not committed a crime, I would have had no reason to act."

"You — you bastard...!"

"Is that thing at your waist merely a decoration? If you're that angry, why don't you draw it?"

Gasfield's face flushed red as he huffed and puffed, but in the end he did not draw his sword. A pity. Without justification, I could not draw mine either.

I brushed past him and kept walking. There was nothing further to be gained from talking.

When I arrived at the 1st Division office, Chief Albert asked a question.

"Did you happen to run into Gasfield?"

"Yes, I did, but..."

"He ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠usually comes in at the same time I do, but there was no sign of him today. I figured he must have gone to find you."

"I see. Did the 3rd Division have anything to say about this?"

The fact that the information had reached Gasfield's ears meant that Luminous, Chief of the 3rd Division, knew about it as well. He was the Rothman Marquisate's backer. Of course he would try to intervene.

"Well, don't you worry. Whatever they have to say, I'll handle it."

"Understood."

I nodded and headed to my desk. He said that, but I could not leave everything to Chief Albert. If he truly had power, the 1st Division would never have fallen this far. I would take it as a modest offer of help. That, I decided, was about right.

That evening, I left the 1st Division office a little later than usual. I had been so absorbed in organizing the evidence that I had missed quitting time. I hurried my steps, and as I came out of the Inspectorate building, a voice called after me.

"Caenderic. Might I have a word?"

I turned my head toward the sound and found Luminous, Chief of the 3rd Division, standing there. I had expected him to make contact. He was merely about a day earlier than I had anticipated.

"Very well."

"First, I should like to thank you for making the time."

"I had been thinking I needed to meet with you as well, so one might say the timing worked out well."

"Is that so. I, for my part, can only regret it. We could surely have met under more pleasant circumstances."

Meet under more pleasant circumstances? No. That was impossible. As long as he had engaged in corruption, a positive relationship was out of the question.

"I imagine you already know why I stopped you."

"It is about the Rothman Marquisate and Gasfield, I presume."

"Yes. You know it well. I would like you to show some leniency regarding those matters. You wouldn't want this spiraling into a factional dispute either, would you?"

Leniency and factional disputes. It was such patent nonsense that a hollow laugh escaped my lips of its own accord.

"Chief, I believe you may be under some misconception."

"A misconception?"

"I have no interest whatsoever in factional disputes. What I mean is that I am not doing this merely for the 1st Division's performance record."

"Then why on earth are you doing this? I find it even harder to understand."

Luminous's expression went blank for a moment. Then he slowly nodded. A great many thoughts were written across his face.

I gave a slight bow and resumed the steps I had halted. That should have been enough to convey my intent.

Luminous muttered the words in a voice barely above a whisper.

Exactly three days from the day the summons was sent, Marquis Rothman appeared at the Inspectorate. Arrogantly, he did not even step down from his carriage, instead summoning me through a servant.

Was he in his right mind?

The thought came unbidden. Then again, if he had been in his right mind, he would never have committed corruption in the first place.

I spoke to the Marquis's servant.

"If he does not get down on his own two feet, I will have no choice but to take him into custody and move him myself. The Marquis may choose as he sees fit."

The servant, dripping with sweat, hurried out of the 1st Division office. I met Marquis Rothman not long after that. Apparently the word custody had been frightening enough.

"A pleasure to meet you, Marquis Rothman."

"So you're that Caenderic."

"Please follow me this way."

I set off with him. Fortunately, he was quite cooperative. He neither spoke in a high-handed manner nor caused a scene.

Until now, that is.

The place we arrived at was the interrogation room in the basement of the Inspectorate. I locked the door securely and spoke.

"Please have a seat here."

He sat in the chair, and I sat across from him. We faced each other over a small table. I was certain I had smashed that table, but someone seemed to have replaced it with a new one.

"Marquis Rothman, it would be in your best interest not to lie in this room. Answer every question with the truth and nothing else."

"Very well. I shall."

"Approximately ten years ago — were you the one who ordered the raids on the magic tool workshops of House Ardel and House Rowen?"

"No, no. I know nothing of such things."

I was fairly certain I had told him to speak only the truth. Apparently he still had not grasped the situation.